


Crown of Fangs

by Subatomic_grape



Category: Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, Chrobin Week 2020, F/M, Fairy Tale Elements, Werewolves
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-20
Updated: 2021-02-13
Packaged: 2021-03-08 21:15:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 15,038
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27113161
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Subatomic_grape/pseuds/Subatomic_grape
Summary: A prince, a shapeshifter, and an ancient wild magic that unites them both.
Relationships: Chrom/Female My Unit | Reflet | Robin
Comments: 7
Kudos: 53





	1. Fairytales

_Every year, the forest grows a little closer to their borders._

It keeps Chrom's arms strong, and his sword swings determined. He lashes into the shadowed branches again and again, knowing that each bite from the blade is another inch of ground claimed for Ylisse. The trees crackle and groan around him, but still give way. Sometimes his blade strikes something else, and he has to roll to the side before the monsters of the wood can retaliate.

It's become second nature to lash into beast and wood alike; they're all facets of the same primordial entity that threatens to swallow his kingdom. But Falchion is equal to all of them.

The blade goes from severing woodland to cutting through a monster, sending it howling through the woods and breaking more branches in its death throes. He can hear answering snaps and clashes of steel off to his sides. A sign the others are warring against the wilds.

Each night they have their patrols, riding the wane game trails and half swallowed footpaths, trying to drive back the growth. Axes are best for the job, but sometimes the forest fights back; that's what the hunting spears and horses are best for. The whicker of the animals filters through the undergrowth; the domesticated beasts don't like this place any more than some of the soldiers do, and are eager to be back home.

"That's enough for now." Comes a voice, stilling Chrom's movements. He tries to obey, even as his body screams in protest, saying there's still more fight left in him. But Frederick's orders leave no room for argument. That much is clear when the knight rides in front of Chrom, fresh, strangely colored blood showing on his spear.

And looking around, Chrom sees signs of a fight cut short. A beast of the wilds lays half in and out of the undergrowth, still twitching. Leonine paws scratch the dirt, while a scorpion's tail writhes as life leaves the body; a new breed spat out by the forest, to try and slow them down.

And there's evidence of more twisted creatures, collapsed in the briars and bushes-

As he stares at the corpses and lets Falchion dip earthward, he catches a sight of something strange and pale moving through the woods. There's little more than a rustle of leaves and branches in its wake, and a whisper of displaced air and breath; almost like the faintest suggestion of a growl. Chrom freezes at the sight for a moment, wondering at the pale beast… And why it doesn't attack, like the others. But then the next moment, the silvery creature melts into the shadows. When he tries to find it again, his eyes tangle on strange violet flowers so vivid they almost hurt the eyes.

"Milord. We'd best be on our way. There isn't much daylight left in the sky, and the moons will be out soon." Frederick warns him, and Chrom can only nod. He turns his back on the forest with reluctance; but all around him, the others are eager enough to get back to shelter.

_Every night, the shadows grow a little darker._

As he follows the troops back, Chrom scans the undergrowth and takes in the tally; they've warred with fewer beasts this time, and cut down more of the wood as a result. But for all that, he's certain they've only managed to hold the line, and reclaim a little from the last turn of the moon. Back when the beasts had been more aggressive.

Looking around, he can see more signs of monsters; slashes gouged in the trees, strange paw prints left in the dirt… And the growls and chitters filtering down through the far reaches of the forest. It reminds him that there's worse out there than what they've faced tonight. A reason to bring his blade back up-

He sees little more than a flash of shadow and silver, barreling out of the forest with an angry snarl. A flash of fangs snaps a bare inch from his face. Chrom flinches from the fangs, falling backwards and into a tangle of brambles and dirt. The jolt makes him bring the blade up, as a horse-sized wolf charges out of the forest, sinks fangs into his shoulder-

And then it breaks away with a shriek, as his blade carves out an answering wound on the creature. The fangs yank out of his skin with a burst of blood and pain, the monster flinching back into the trees.

For a moment, Chrom can only stare from his spot in the dirt.

"Milord!?" Frederick rides up to him, eyes wide in confusion.

"I-I'm alright." Chrom whispers, tracing a thumb over his wounds. That attack had come faster than any of the creatures he's faced tonight… And left deeper punctures in his skin.

"I'll be alright." He says again, pulling himself up. He spares a scowl at the forest, and the wolf that evaded his blade.

_Every turn of the moon, the wolves howl a little nearer to their walls._

Chrom turns his gaze from all of the chaos and his wounds, focusing on the patches of sky overhead. The tangled branches fall away with each step and snort from the horses, showing a glimmering band of stars. It's a path in the sky, mirroring the road that takes them all home, to the welcoming glow of the castle, the city, and its myriad torches. Chrom tries to focus on that, and not on the way his wounds ache.

_Every time he rides away, he leaves a little bit more of himself behind on the thorns and briars._

The wild wood demands a heavy price, for fighting it. And no matter what precautions they take, he always seems to pay that price in red flesh. It's no exaggeration to say the wilds have a taste for his blood by now. And each time, they demand a greater amount of it.

His wounds ache the entire ride back to the castle. Even when they've left the forest far behind, he can feel bits of wild and wood-borne poison still burning in his skin. His wounds take on a baleful, green glow, as the magic from the wild wars with the blessings of Naga in his blood. Chrom grits his teeth against it all, already knowing what will happen. His aches will slowly dim through the night, vanish completely at the first lights of morning, and by sundown he'll be ready for another sortie… And another audience from his father.

This is the part he enjoys the least. Stepping into a hall filled with opulence, of long twisting stonework that mimics the trees and flowers found outside… But looking somehow prouder. Chandeliers overhead mingle with mage lights and carefully sculpted flower lanterns, bathing the grand hall in a rainbow of color.

All of it is lost on his father, sitting almost like a statue in his throne, eyes cold and measuring Chrom as he makes the report.

"We've made strides today," Chrom begins. He tries not to squirm in place, knowing that he doesn't belong in this gleaming hall; not with his wounds weeping red, dirt and leaves smeared in his hair, and long rents torn into his armor and cape. He looks more like an entity of the forest, not someone who fights it. Nevertheless, he has a report to give, regardless of how many stares he draws from the court.

"I killed two monsters by my own hands. Frederick another two. Sully and her riders accounted for five, while our foot soldiers gained a full hectare." He swears that for a moment, his father looks satisfied.

"Well enough. Continue at this pace, and perhaps we can go on the offensive. For now, rest and regain your strength for the next sortie." The king makes a gesture, dismissing the troops after speaking a few faint words of praise. The other Shepherds disperse… But Chrom finds himself staying put.

"Father. In light of this I wonder if… May I see-?" He doesn't even get to finish the question. His father answers it with a curt glare.

"You should know the answer by now. You practically bleed green, after your journey into the forest. No, I won't risk my firstborn heir." Chrom ducks his head, hoping his father won't see the resentment blazing in his own eyes.

' _He's right. You should know the answer. And you should know what a risk you present to Emm.'_

But still, even as he turns and walks down the palace, he can't help but look out to her rooms. He hesitates for a moment too long; the runes on the doorways begin to glow red, and the light almost burns into his eyes. He turns before the wards get any worse, and remind Chrom of the taint still running fresh in his veins.

His sister carries even worse than that; she'd led the Shepherds once, against the might of the wilds. And she had paid the price, much like Chrom does now. He still remembers the day his father ordered her confined to the palace, lest the touch of the wild overwhelm her, and turn her into a woods witch.

' _Small wonder you can't see her. Do YOU want to be responsible for her going mad? And besides that, when it comes to madness you're doing a good enough job of_ _ **that**_ _for your entire family.'_

He quickens his steps, trying to outrun his thoughts. He's not in a mood to join either Lissa in prayer and reflection, nor Sully and the others as they drink their hurts away and wait to mend. Instead, he rushes to his own rooms, all but slamming the door behind him.

There's no candlelight here; nothing but the light of Grima's moon shining through the grand window, along with the night breeze.

He's kept silent about this; that whenever Grima or Naga's baleful eyes stare down from the night sky, he can hear the cries of the forest. He tried to shut and bar his window against them, the first time it happened. And the silence was enough to drive him mad.

There's a different breed of madness curling through him now, as he takes a seat near the window and listens to the calls of the forest. Despite fighting sword and fist against the wild just candle marks ago… There's something about the rustle of leaves that soothes his nerves and smooths his temper. There's the calls of beasts as well, the bugling of the elk and call of deer the royal family once hunted, or the owl calls. It all forms a strange music, equal to any court minstrel.

He wonders if Emm listens to this call as well…

…Or if she hears the new cry that builds up from the trees. It's a long, undulating call, a mix between song and mournful, almost human wail… And the long howl of a beast.

' _Gods, that's a wolf!'_ His thoughts finally catch up and scream at him, jolting Chrom from the cry's spell. Something digs into his gut, and he looks down to see the window pressed against him, his body half out of the opening. The roof and courtyard stretches before him, both looking unforgiving if he opts to fall completely.

Chrom winces back, slamming the windows shut in the process. The cry cuts out, replaced by that maddening silence… But he can't bring himself to open the glass again. A chill creeps over his skin and soaks him with sweat, and he can only shake his head, wondering at what came over him.

-o-o-o-

_Every night, she fights her own battle._

It's a struggle each time the sun sinks past the trees and the shadows grow long; the fading light sends changes through her body. Even now, with the moons rising like twin eyes, each half lidded, above the forest, left over crackles of pain and tension fire through her muscles. It makes all her fur bristle, and her lips curl back to show freshly grown fangs.

_Every sundown brings a fever, a rage, and a snapping to her bones._

Her form can never seem to decide what it wants to be; wolf, or something else. Depending on the phase of the moon, it veers closer to one or the other, but seldom able to change over completely. It's been like that more and more often now; as another wound gets cut into the forest, she feels that same hurt, and it makes her shapes bleed together. And her thoughts feel that same blurring.

_Every night, the brand on her hand and paw burns a little more brightly._

When she's in this wilder shape it's hard to remember life spent on two limbs, instead of four; like she's recalling the details of a murky, feverish dream. And worse is the hurt along her flesh; the bite from the sword still burns near her heart, each beat sending a little more fire into her blood.

She watches the intruders and their castle, from her spot on the hill. The castle is strange in her new eyes, too many straight lines and bright, burning lights.

A part of her wants to hate it; just like a part of her wanted to sink her fangs into the intruders of her forest and soak the earth with their blood. Starting with the wretched prince and his sword-

But then, she remembers how she'd stopped short, both by the blade and a strange hesitation. Something that kept her from seeking either heart or throat's full blood, even though she had both in her grasp. The remnants of some other shape, trying to linger in her brain. It all conspires against her, and makes it so she doesn't wish drench her fangs in red tonight… Even with a rage and a hunger churning through her guts, and trying to sink its own teeth into her.

_Every night, it gets harder to ignore the bloodlust burning in her brain._

But she's found one way around it. One thing that keeps her half-tame, even when her shape grows savage.

She might be compelled into this shape by the light of the moon… But she refuses to act on it, no matter how savage it might be, or how it tries to twist her thoughts. So instead she raises her head to the stars, closes her eyes, and opens her jaws. She can feel her long fangs almost bite at the night air… But instead of sinking them into flesh, she calls.

She can only howl, all her words stolen from her; but even with that loss, it's better to sing, let her voice carry to the walls.

And perhaps it will reach the intruder from before. The same one who drove her off with the blade.

' _But isn't he your enemy?'_ Her thoughts growl at her. There's still a rage lurking in her heart… But now that the humans have retreated, the worst of it has faded away.

When she first saw them, it had been in a different shape; something close to their own forms. Maybe that's why she'd only waited and watched, wondering at why they fought so wildly against the forest. They seemed almost… Afraid of this place. Of her home.

Maybe that was also why she hid; because she had her own fears, that they'd lash out at her.

' _And if they had,'_ a calmer voice in her head provided. _'You wouldn't have been able to hold back. You'd have laid into them with tooth and claw. They offer no mercy, so why should you provide the same?'_

She flexes long claws at the ends of her paws, her tail flicking back and forth with a restless energy. If she doesn't want to make war on the humans, then she should at least be hunting. Slaking her bloodlust elsewhere… And yet even that thought can't drive her from her place on the hill, or from her song.

A swarm of crows clouds the skies, wings flickering like a thousand black leaves. One of them alights near her, fearless of her claws or her teeth, or even the way she breaks off her howls to growl at it.

"I can fly faster than you can snap, you know." The crow quorks at her. The crow-speech is odd to her ears, and it's only thanks to the wild magic of the forest that she can understand. "Besides, why'd you want to eat a little bird like me?"

She has to agree with that; more than anything she'd prefer rich, red meat, or…

"So why didn't you eat those humans, anyway? You had plenty of chances." The crow continued, tilting its head and regarding her with one bright eye. She can only shake her head at that, her ears snapping back and forth. There were plenty of reasons; their numbers, the bright fang their leader had wielded…

…And then, there was the fact that watching him stirred something strange in her head. Something that has been half forgotten. And she knows that if she devoured him, her chances of remembering would be gone as well.

But she doubts the crow would understand any of that. For all that they know how to laugh and cultivate a strange sense of humor, there's some concepts that crows don't grasp. She can barely grasp them herself.

Instead, she's only filled with one thought; wondering when she might meet the human again. And hoping that she can again keep her fangs from finding his throat.

-o-o-o-

Chrom dreams of a singer in the woods, and a shining city at her back, growing up from the trees and looking like it's been carved from moonlight. There's something oddly alluring about that cry, even though the singer seems blind to him. Her eyes stare through him… But if her gaze doesn't reach him, then her voice certainly does.

It's a strange song; fair as the young woman looks, there's something of a howl to her song. Something neither fully human nor beast… And yet he can't close his ears to it, or turn from the singer.

Her hand is blindly reaching out, searching the same way her voice is. She's blinded and lost, looking for something, or someone. Chrom catches her hand in his own… And feels claws brush against his skin.

And something else rests on his shoulder, with a far harsher grip than the girl's long talons. The hand on his shoulder shakes him back and forth-

Until at last he wakes up.

His father stands over him, and Chrom is abruptly aware of how his skin writhes and itches under the man's gaze. He's ready to blame any leftover dirt and leaves sticking to his skin, only to see that his flesh is clean. And yet still, he feels ready to squirm out of it.

The harsh look of his father doesn't help either, and his hand still grips Chrom by the shoulder.

"The forest has its claws in you. Worse than I thought." His father says, voice carefully drained of pity, sympathy, or even hate. Chrom can only stare at him in confusion.

"Father, I don't think falling asleep at the window is cause for alarm," and he hopes his father doesn't know the rest of the story, how he still feels drawn to the call of the forest. He holds up his arms as proof; the wounds have already healed up, the strange glow banished from his skin-

A bolt of pain travels along his chest, as he moves his arms. It radiates out from his heart. Right where the white and shadow beast had torn a wound into his skin… And it still hasn't healed. His father looks at the cut with such a snarl of disapproval, before turning his back on Chrom and stalking back to the doors. Before Chrom can even speak, the doors slam shut, and he can hear the click of a lock.

He's kept confined in his rooms until sundown… And if Chrom thought he knew madness before, this sorely tests that belief. Watching the sun crawl its way across the sky, seeing the forest sway in the wind but being unable to act against it is all taxing… And especially when the sky grows crimson and the shadows turn long. That's the worst part for Chrom. Knowing that by all rights, he should be facing down the wilds with his sword right now, not left confined to his rooms.

The blade still rests at his side; his father hasn't deprived Chrom of the sword yet. That in turn gives him a wane bit of hope; maybe his father is consulting with Emm, or Lissa, or any number of the priests and healers in the castle. Perhaps they're busy with a counter spell, and a way for him to heal-

…And his heart only sinks when the door opens, and Frederick stands on the other side. No one else accompanies the knight.

"So it's true; the forest left its mark on you." Frederick says, grief shadowing his eyes; like he's already lost Chrom. And Chrom wonders if he's about to become like his sister, a prisoner in the palace. The sorrowful look from Frederick doesn't help with that… And the knight also doesn't budge from his spot in the doorway, barring Chrom's path when he tries to step past.

"Frederick… Let me go." His words don't move the knight either.

"I have my orders, your grace." Frederick says, and those orders seem to weigh down on him more than his own armor. "You're to remain in your quarters until your father decides otherwise."

He gets no room to argue; no chance to even force his way out. Frederick puts a hand on his chest when Chrom tries to bull his way through… Dangerously close to where the monster bit into him. He winces from the contact… And even feels a snarl build across his face.

Frederick doesn't shy from his reaction, only glowering at Chrom in a way that matches his father… And Chrom knows he hasn't done much to convince the knight that he can be trusted. Frederick pushes back on Chrom, sending him stumbling backwards.

"The king will see you this evening, to relieve you of both your post, and Falchion."

And Chrom can't bring himself to pound or test the door, after that rejection.

His quarters have never felt like a prison before; or like he's going to suffocate inside the walls. By the time the sun dips low, he's about ready to climb the walls or claw his way out of his skin… And when the forest begins its nightly call, he throws the window open and lets it wash over him.

This time, the howl takes its time to work up, and sounds more like a wolf's cry than before. But however much it has changed, it still gives him a strange, mad strength. The ache of wound in his chest fades away from the long notes and mournful call.

And some of his own panic fades away, when he picks out a hurt quality to the voice. It echoes the ache in his own heart. Chrom leans forward, trying to better hear the voice and figure out why it carries such sorrow-

But that concern vanishes, as the window vanishes beneath him, and he leans too far from the wall. He overbalances, and the wind whistles past his head, taking the place of the howl. He plunges like a stone, heavy limbed one second… And the next second, his muscles snap into action. He curls, hitting the palace roof in a crouch. The impact rocks through him as tiles crackle and crunch beneath his weight, but the sensations only spur him on.

He finds himself scrabbling his way across the roof tiles, straining towards the forest, intent on the calls… And heedless of the shouts beneath him, as eyes pick him out and realize what the once-prince is doing. He can barely make out figures in the courtyard, pointing at him, screaming at him to stop.

And ordering he goes back to being a prisoner. He's not about to comply, not even when they loose arrows to try and stop him. The points nick his boots and hands, but he manages to weave past the shots, and keep running for the wall.

"MILORD!" That voice belongs to Frederick, making one last desperate attempt to stop him… But then, he's over the palace wall, running swift as a horse through the streets and towards the woods.

Whatever is waiting for him the forest, he doesn't know… But it's better than going mad in a stone prison. That pained note of the call drives him onward; he might be a fool for thinking so, but maybe he can help the caller.

It's better than doing nothing, even if he risks losing himself to the forest.

_And every heartbeat, he feels himself grow a little more wild._


	2. Naga And Grima

He isn't used to fear.

It's a change, having tremors root in his limbs, shivers trying to shake the torch from his hands, and the dry taste settling in his mouth. All of it is a strange sensation. And it only grows stranger and stronger as the wood closes over his head.

Soon enough the stars and moonlight are swallowed up, leaving him with just the torch casting a sullen orange glow. He forces himself forward, wondering if he can pick up the wild call again… And he also tries not to focus on the doubt gnawing at his gut.

' _What have you done? What have you landed yourself in?'_ His thoughts hiss at him, berating him in a mental voice that sounds strangely close to his own father.

He's seen the husks of humans in the forest before. Broken bodies and bleached bones, the remnants of people swallowed by the forest and consumed by the beasts. He wonders if he'll end up like that, before the moons shift again. If he'll also be hollowed out by the wilds, with moss and beetles making a home out of his flesh and bones.

' _Stop.'_ He tries to tell himself, and swallow those fears. He's a fighter, and he won't die easily. Not until he finds the source of that wild song… And figures out what it wants from him.

He also tries to think of other things, instead of the dread tightening around his throat. His thoughts keep straying back to the castle, and what all he's left behind in his spur of the moment flight.

' _What were you thinking!?'_ The panicked voice continues, growing more and more desperate. And the truth is… He wasn't thinking. A different sort of terror and desperation had gripped him back then, and a determination not to live trapped in by walls.

So instead he's chosen to die in the wilds.

Chrom takes another shuddering breath, trying to focus again on something else; if he has to think of the castle, maybe he can instead recall the people that live there… And that in turn makes him remember Emmeryn. He thinks of her poise and calm, both those things undimmed in his memory even with the passage of time. He thinks of the long-gone nights spent by the fireplace with her, overhearing her tell stories to Lissa.

' _All those tales of heroes braving the wilds. The first Exalt banishing the beasts from his kingdom, or the hero king founding the capital…'_ He never expected to find himself in a tale like one of those. But he's not certain his will have such a happy ending.

-o-o-o-

The stars aren't the only residents of the night sky; two moons travel from horizon to horizon most nights. They're called the eyes of Naga and Grima; one silver, one violet, and one always waxing when the other wanes.

With each turn of the moons, it gets harder to remember life on two limbs. And her memories grow more ragged at the edges; she's dimly aware that when the sun rises, her claws and fur melt back a little to show something more human… But the nights spent running as a beast leave her drained and feverish, her time spent as a something other than a wolf melting by.

So when the moons rise, her thoughts feel more feverish. Even the rumbling of storm clouds doesn't dim the weird fire burning in her brain and blood… But it does leave her more snappish when the crows stream past her, cackling and squawking. The same crow from before weaves past her teeth, fanning her face with its wing beats… And carrying a strange scent on its feathers. Something that suggests brick dust, metal, and fire smoke.

Things wrought by human hands. And the notion that there's a human in her forest after dark makes her fur all stand on edge. There's no song in her throat now; just a base, animal growl.

The crows swirl around Robin, cackling and promising good hunting if she follows them. And she's eager to give chase, her stomaching giving its own eager growl. Her wolfish side craves red and raw flesh.

She follows the birds in a hunched form, in an awkward loping gait. And as she runs, the skies echo her rasping breath with a rumble of thunder. There will be a storm tonight, but that isn't about to stop her from hunting.

And soon enough, she claws her way through the woods and finds her quarry.

The prince is missing his usual band of retainers, carrying only a blade and a torch with him… And this time, she's determined not to have those used against her. The prince seems to be searching for something as well, but he lacks the night sight she has.

Heavy and sharp edged as her body feels, her footsteps stay light. She's practically a phantom gliding through the woods, haunting the clumsy footsteps of the prince. And the more she watches him, the more he looks ill placed here; even when he's not fighting the very wilds, he stumbles and lurches through the growth.

There's pinpricks of violet flowers as well, that try to tangle him. He lengthens his stride, not wanting to step on the blooms. She has to prowl away from them in turn, and avoid their thorns; something tells her to give them a wide berth, as she hunts the prince and closes the gap.

She's ready to leap, to lash and snap with fangs-

But then, something else moves between the trees. Something that isn't her or the prince, and her eyes gleam as she picks out the motions; whatever it is moves like another wolf, prowling on all fours, low to the ground… And also trailing the prince.

Something else is hunting her quarry. And intruding on her domain. That thought makes her eyes blaze, her fur bristle, and all of her teeth show. The dark wolf snakes through the forest, as adept at hunting as she is… And ignoring the low growl she gives, telling it to leave now if it wants to keep its hide intact.

The wolf might choose not to hear her, but the prince does, jerking his head around and staring.

The black wolf pounces on his startled motion and surges out of the trees, jaws opened wider than they have any right to… But that doesn't give her pause. She doesn't freeze like the prince, and instead rushes with a bellow of her own. Her legs are just as strong as the other wolf, and when it leaps, she jumps as well, meeting it midair.

The storm breaks around them as they clash together, sending down a torrent of rain and blaze of lightning. She refuses to flinch from any of that, matching the storm and the wolf with her own ferocity.

She slams fangs first into the black wolf, feels the ruff of fur tangle her fangs, and then bites deeper. A taste of blood is her reward as the beast writhes underneath her. It twists, trying to snap down on her leg with an outraged snarl. Its teeth find her fur, but before it can break her leg with a crunch and snap of jaws, they crash to the ground, well short of the prince. She writhes out of the jaws, and lashes out blindly with fangs-

Something soft bursts beneath her own jaws. The wolf gives a pained shriek, slamming into her before retreating with a pained flinch. The space where one eye should be is a red ruin, and it gives one last outraged snarl before retreating, leaving little more than a trail of blood. Even that is quickly diluted with rainwater.

She takes all that in as she skids backwards from the body slam, sliding through mud and then crashing into something else. Something that gives a pained gasp as they slam into the base of a tree.

The prince. Her proper quarry. And now that she's driven the other wolf off, she's free to make her kill. The prince tries to struggle, only to get tangled in the mud and roots. Completely helpless.

' _Stop…'_ Something stirs in her mind, even as she whirls and pins the prince under her claws. He's dazed from the strikes and storm and is easy pickings. She lets her fangs show, ready to bite down…

' _STOP.'_ Even as her thoughts scream out, a strange crackling fills the air. Then comes an explosion of white light, and a taste of electricity soaks the air and stabs her tongue and nostrils. She dimly realizes that lightning has lanced from the heavens, and slammed into the tree… And in turn traveled down through the roots, biting both her and the prince with its fangs. Her heart gives a brief stutter, and the prince gives a pained cry, something glowing near his own heart, like the lightning itself has lodged in his skin.

Before she can gather herself, a different crackling happens overhead. One of the branches gives up against the onslaught and falls down with a blaze of fire, ready to crush and burn her-

Until the prince stares up, half blinded by the lightning, but still manages to grab her by the shoulders. He doesn't flinch from her claws, pulling her closer to him and out of the path of the falling, blazing branch.

' _He risks life and limb…'_ Her thoughts become more coherent, like the lightning and fire both singe away her wild side. With her all but pressed against him, the prince locks eyes with her… And something in her shifts, under his gaze. Her body gives a bone deep shiver, her fur and wild side all melting away.

When her teeth dull, so does the need to sink them into his throat. She gapes as the changes sweep along her body, snapping her from wolf to something almost-human. And that's when the moonlight grows a little stronger, gives the prince a little more light to see by… Though his eyes are still woefully dulled, compared to her own.

He doesn't seem to see the changes still lurking in the corners of her shape. She can feel them however; fur still bristling along her limbs, lupine ears lurking on her human head and tangled in her hair, and a tail lashing back and forth in confusion.

But none of it seems to matter to the prince, as he focuses entirely on her face.

"You look like… Like the person in my dream-" He starts to say, before shaking his head.

" Who are you…?" The prince can only whisper. "I-I mean… What's your name? Gods, I never expected I'd find another person out here. I thought I'd only dream of people in the wilds."

She can only stare at him… And wonder, at the fact that she can make sense of his words. Before she could only understand those who dwelled in the forest, the speech of humans flowing odd and guttural past her ears.

He reaches a hand out to her. A part of her wants to bare teeth, to snap that thing off at the wrist… But that part is fading away, the longer she looks at the prince and hears his voice.

"S-sorry, I guess I never introduced myself; my name is Chrom."

'… _Names.'_ That same part of her that fought, that denied her bloodlust, speaks again. _'That's… You have a name, don't you?'_

A part of her wants to refuse the question; knowing that names are a human concept, not for a beast like her… And that other part of her twitches her newly formed fingers, reminding her that she's a little closer to human now.

And still, the prince looks at her, waiting to see if she'll answer.

' _Chrom. His name is Chrom. And yours is…'_

"Rrrhhhh," her voice crackles out of her throat, rough and rusty from disuse. She takes a breath and tries again. "Rrrhhhho- Robin."

It takes all her effort to work that out… But when she does, the last sparks of wild fury seem to drain out of her. And all of Robin's strength goes as well. She slumps against the prince, and she has to ball her hands, long claws digging into her palm; she doesn't want to tear scratches into him, in return for him saving her life.

The fire gutters behind her, half exhausted by the storm winds and rain… But she can still feel near-blisters on her skin from where the flames tried to bite her.

"Robin-?" He tests the name, and she nods against his shoulder. "D-doesn't look like you're in much better shape than I am. Do you know if we can find some shelter-?"

In answer, Robin pulls herself upright, claws searching for something to lead him by. They hook into the fabric of his cape, and she decides that's as good as anything. She pulls, and he can only give a startled noise before stumbling after her.

They have to make for a ridiculous sight; a half-beast leading a half-blind human by his cape, like it forms an odd leash. But luckily they don't have far to stumble. Her nose doesn't work the same as before, and the old game trails are little more than faded and rain-washed tracks. But she's able to follow vague memories of paths, towards a clearing-

And that's where the clouds part a little more, to show the moons.

' _Moons?'_

There's NEVER been two full moons staring down at the forest. She's sure of that much. And yet, Naga and Grima both watch the forest through their great lidless eyes, and their glare seems to pierce through her, down to the bones.

She's hunted rabbits before and savored the young meat; the advantage with hunting such prey is how they always freeze before her, going numb with terror and realizing too late that they've lost their chance to run.

…She's never thought that she'd feel a kinship with rabbits. And yet now her limbs all freeze up, and she drops into a crouch, trying to hide from the moons in the undergrowth. She pulls Chrom with her, and his protests are cut short when he sees the sky.

"That…" He freezes beside her, and can't tear his eyes from the moons, transfixed by their light "That's never… EVER happened before. How can both gods be watching the world?"

She doesn't have an answer for that… But now she has her suspicions. And she's certain that the two moons are the reason she's like this now, caught between shapes. What the gods intend, she's not certain… And she also doesn't get time to linger on it. A new storm front boils across the sky, and blots out the moons. The rain slices back down, and she remembers what they need to do; find shelter.

Robin leads Chrom deeper into the trees, to a place where the hills rise up, and where a beast has dug a burrow into the soil. It may have even been her doing, though Robin can't say for sure. All she knows is that this is a place that can hold two, and shelter them from the storm.

Once they climb into the den, Chrom collapses. All his strength seems to bleed out of him, even though she's certain she didn't give him any crippling injuries. She prowls closer, newly formed fingers digging into the dirt and peering through the den's gloom. She tries to ask what's wrong, but all that comes out is a confused trill. Thankfully, her eyes still work well enough, and she picks out the problem.

He's drenched through, shivering from the rainwater and the night's chill. Robin doesn't envy him; at least she has the benefit of keeping a fur coat in some places-

That gives her pause, as she watches Chrom curl into a ball. He won't last the night like this, and the thought of him dying in such a miserable state sends a different sort of chill through Robin. It also drives her to crawl over to him, and curl up beside him. He goes still for a moment, before looking over his shoulder at her. Robin uses the chance to wind herself around him, tangling her new limbs against him, and her tail does a decent job of acting like a blanket and pillow.

His eyes look glazed, not quite registering what's wrapped around him… But his hands reach out, seemingly by reflex, and grip at her tail so he can hold it close to him. She never imagined the scourge of the woodlands is also a reflexive cuddler. But he seems comforted by her presence.

Another shiver steals any words he might have.

She wants to tell him in turn that she'll try to keep him alive, that it won't do her any good to see him die from exposure, and that she still needs to ask some questions of him… But her throat is still uncooperative, unused to forming words.

"S-stay… Safe." Is the best she can manage. But that seems to be enough for him, as he drifts off to sleep. It doesn't take her long to follow.

-o-o-o-

He dreams again, in feverish patches; he dreams of running swift through the forest, now running alongside the silver haired girl from his last dream. Together they race towards that moonlit city. Chrom feels elation surge through him… Until he catches sight of twin moons over the ancient city, catching him and holding him in their light. He finds the girl's hand again… But this time, there's something sharp on his own fingers, and his claws are a match for her-

His dream breaks apart, as a something teases at his ears.

"W…Wake. Wake up." His eyes aren't in a hurry to listen. But when he feels four points of pressure brushing his shoulder, the touch makes him jolt upright… And Chrom almost smacks his head against a dirt and stone ceiling.

"Wh…What-?" Chrom blurts out, before everything catches up to him; the desperate flight from the castle, running through the forest… And a tangle of chaos spent crashing into the stranger. She's still by his side, and seems to be working on speaking.

"Wanted… To make sure. You'd wake." She tries again, lifting her hand from his shoulder and rubbing at her throat. "Talking… Comes easier. Now that it's day."

He nods at that, wondering at what afflicts the girl, and how it almost robbed her of her voice.

"…Robin." He finally recalls her name. And he blinks the last bit of sleep and blurriness from his eyes, able to properly take her in-

And the morning light streaming into the den shows him exactly what he's facing. Chrom goes shock still when he picks out the bestial features clinging to the edges of her form.

"You're… Gods, what happened to you?" He can't stop staring, and she seems to writhe under his gaze. But he can't tear his eyes from all the changes gripping her; the long claws her hands boast, how someone has stitched paws where her feet should be, and the long snowy tail she boasts. The fur on her limbs is in better shape than her clothing; it's almost entirely rags, trimmed with more of that snowy fur.

…And he also has to wonder about the amount of leg she's comfortable with showing. She's an odd mash up of feral and human. A denizen of two worlds… And looking oddly like the figure in his dream, with that snowy coloring. He can also faintly recall a warm body wrapped around him, promising to keep him safe through the night-

That's enough to make his face burn, even though he knows he owes his life to this strange girl. But that doesn't stop his thoughts from going panicked and confused at everything.

"What… ARE you?" He blurts out. And she doesn't answer him at once.

"…I… Saved you, h-human." She doesn't meet his eyes, and he wonders at the odd reddish tint her own eyes carry; between that and the snowy color of her hair and fur, she looks half like a fey spirit that somehow became flesh. "So save y-your…"

She breathes in hard, and then snarls out the last words.

"Your _impertinent_ questions, and go back to your home."

That's a dismissal if ever he's heard one. But she can't quite manage the same level of scorn and aloofness that his father manages. He's already disobeyed that sterner will, so he has practice when it comes to bunching his hands into fists, and shaking his head.

"I… I can't do that." He forces himself to say. Robin ceases her bristling for a moment, astonished at his defiance. "I can't go home, while I'm still like this."

Chrom lets his hand drift to his heart. The wound over it throbs, like it has been laced with venom. His other wounds are mostly healed over, and yet a phantom ache still lingers over his skin. So does a restless feeling, chasing away the last of the fatigue and urging him to wander the wilds.

"My father sees me as a monster. And I can't go back until I've found a way to fix that." He raises his eyes to Robin, trying to hold her gaze and impress his words on her. "I won't ask you to help me, but I also won't let you stand in my way."

"…Brave words, considering how you were stumbling through the forest." She tells him, frowning over Chrom. He tries not to redden even more over that.

"Well… I've got my breath back now, and my balance. And I can at least use my blade now…" He trails off as his hand goes to the hilt, and Robin freezes when she lays eyes on it. "H-hey. I'm also not in a hurry to fight you, either. Seeing as you saved my life."

He still can't make full sense of his first encounter with Robin; how it was a blending of savage beasts, lightning and fire… And then he found himself with her sprawled across his chest.

'… _Perhaps it would be better not to focus on that.'_ The memory of her warmth threatens to throw him off balance. And the more he considers her, everything about Robin leaves him confused and scrambling to make sense of things.

"I-it might honestly be better if I just thanked you, and we went our separate ways." At least then he doesn't run the risk of insulting her again.

But for all that, Robin still doesn't move. Instead she watches him, the tip of her tail twitching and betraying the roil of her thoughts.

"What… Exactly do you plan on doing in the forest? Are you going to hack your way through it until you get what you want?" She presses him instead. Chrom lowers his head at that, and wonders at the shame twinging through him. Or how Robin knows about his past, fighting the wilds.

"N-no. I've had my fill of fighting for a while, unless I absolutely have to. I'd rather search."

"For what?" Robin insists. It's a good question. Chrom forces a deep breath, ordering his own thoughts and thinking back.

"There's… A story my sister used to tell me." And maybe that was another thing driving him into the wilds. Maybe that had played a role in giving him such strange dreams, along with the wild song seeping through his window. "It… It was a tale about another kingdom, nestled deep in the forest. It was supposed to hold ruins and artifacts, links to the past. I don't suppose you know anything about that-?"

Robin shakes her head, but he wonders at the odd twinge of pain traveling across her face.

"I… I run through the forest. Hunt in it. Fight. Thinking of ruins is…" She trails off. "It's… Hard. To remember."

A frown twists her face; and he gets the feeling she doesn't enjoy having patchwork memories and words. The frustration is clear all through her face and form, as she tenses up.

"M-maybe they could-" he starts to offer, right as Robin speaks up.

"Do you think… Those ruins would help me, too? Help me settle into one shape?" He wonders at that question, and what else it might mean. But instead of asking, he instead nods.

"The lost artifacts are supposed to have the power of the gods. Who knows what the limits are?"

"…Then maybe you don't have to go home right away." Robin allows. "Though you'll need a guide, if you're going to survive and learn the ways of the woods. And… I suppose I'll have to do."

"Yeah…" Chrom says, wondering at how a weight seems to lift from his shoulders. "I suppose so."


	3. Rings

She may be more human now, and possessing a sharper mind… But despite gaining clearer thoughts, Robin is still convinced she's playing the part of a fool. That's the only way she can be leading a human deeper in the forest, instead of driving him back to the borders.

For his part, Chrom seems to be entranced by the woodland; now that he doesn't need to fight the forest, he has room to admire it. He looks every which way as they walk, taking in the vibrant flowers growing along the tree trunks, and even seems to be entranced by the way the leaves sigh and rustle.

"Never seen this side of the forest, have you?" Her voice grows more certain each time she speaks, more used to forming human words. Chrom's proven to be a surprisingly good listener. Robin still expects him to regain his fear and run whenever she speaks… But instead he seems genuinely curious about her. And she doesn't miss the odd spark in his eyes that flickers up, whenever she speaks.

It's so subtle, she wonders if he's even aware when it happens. Thus far, she hasn't been ready to ask him. At least it's a change, from the fear he'd first shown when he saw her. Robin thinks she might even prefer that look, as it muffles any snarls she might want to give.

…The one thing she can't quite explain is the odd twitch that moves through her tail from time to time, whenever she sees that bright look on Chrom's face. Or the light feeling that is determined to lodge in her own chest.

"Best to hurry." She says instead of dwelling on the oddities. "We want to make good time."

-o-o-o-

The woods take on a different light, a different mood, when he isn't trying to fight his way through them. Or when he isn't blundering through them, half blind. Maybe it's because he has a guide now, revealing another side to the wilds.

Robin's showing him that there's an odd beauty to this place. He's never seen the midday light stream through the tree branches, casting the world in a soft emerald glow. Robin guides him, weaving through the sunbeams and all but dancing over the tree roots. As they walk, Chrom catches sight of songbirds flitting through the trees, or small creatures scurrying through the undergrowth… Sometimes he even catches sight of eyes watching them, deep in the forest shadows. But they never move to challenge him or Robin, and blink away quickly enough.

"What's this called?" He constantly asks his guide, hoping to help her relearn her voice. Each time she has a different answer, and speaks a little more clearly; the silver-gold flowers are called Dawn Blossom. The pale blue are Ice Spring. He learns more of the forest, one name at a time.

He should be terrified, that he's letting his guard down so much. Maybe his father IS right, and he's becoming more and more a creature of the forest by the candle mark. And yet, that thought doesn't stop his heart the way it used to.

"This place is…" He whispers, pausing to run his hand over a moss-covered tree.

"…Horrifying?" Robin asks, still a hint of wariness in her voice.

"N-no." He murmurs. "It's… Surprisingly beautiful. I didn't know flowers like this could grow in the wilds, or how different the air is here. It's different, but not…"

Robin slows as she walks towards him, taking in his words. The canine ears on her head flick, betraying how his words surprise and strike her.

"I-it's not bad. Or all the scary, once you grow more familiar with it." Robin's eyes hold on his for a moment, as she takes in his words. There's an odd hesitation in her for a moment, considering him.

"…We better keep going." She finally says, going out to grab at his cape again… Only to pause, and brush her nails over his arm instead. He turns his hand so he can hold onto hers.

Somehow, it feels better this way.

It's midday when he discovers another facet of the forest. Robin's pathfinding takes them into a hollow where soft grass carpets the floor, and the trees take on a coating of moss. Chrom keeps his steps light, minding the puddles, and using the low hanging branches as guides for his balance.

Everything here has an air of meditative tranquility, and Robin's silence reflects that. She barely leaves a trace in the grass, running on light footpads as she scouts ahead. Chrom tries to keep up, running his fingers over smooth branches-

Until something snags at his fingers. He feels the bite of thorn and bramble almost too late, yanking his hand away at the last minute.

"Robin-?" Her footsteps halt, while Chrom turns to the branches. It's a subtle difference, where white aspen fades and turns gnarled and blackened; like someone has coated the branches with a layer of ash… Or a touch of rot. Woven into the blackened limbs are thorny pustules that ripple a strange, sickly violet at the edges. And there's a hint of petals; of the flowers that he saw right before the wolf attacks. His hand hesitates over the violet growths-

Only for Robin to knock his hand away with a near whine of a growl. There's a bristling to her fur, and her ears are pinned back as she grabs him by the arm and yanks him away, heedless of how they splash through puddles and trample the grass. Chrom's foot turns in one of the pools, and before he can break from Robin, he pulls her down with him.

"Wh-What was that about?" He sputters from his new place in the puddles. Robin lands on all fours, still bristling… And seems to crouch over him, almost protectively, as she glares at the blackened branches.

"…Rot." She says. It's just one word, but he can feel the disgust and even a touch of fear in her voice.

"And… What is that, exactly?" He finds himself pressing. "I've never heard of that, but… I'm guessing it's not anything good."

And as he watches the odd violet growths, there's an extra weight in his stomach. Giving it a name sets him more on edge.

"It's something that twists the wilds." Robin tells him, slowly pulling him up and rushing him out of the clearing. She only spares one more glance over their shoulders. "It spoils prey, warps wood and plant, and poisons waters. And once it takes root… It spreads without pity. It's a ruthless hunter, worse than any…"

Her claws twitch against his skin.

' _Worse than any wolf.'_ He can imagine her saying. And he can imagine the wolf that sank teeth into his throat; its blaze of silver-white fur… And its resemblance to Robin.

"…There's a reason the forest spreads so rapidly." Robin says instead.

"It's trying to flee from _that_?" He hazards a guess, and Robin nods.

"Even if it must overrun a kingdom, in order to survive. That's what we all do; hunt and fight back, if it means lasting another day." A somber silence follows her words. Chrom finds himself with a lot more to think about. It's only when the trees begin to thin, and the ground begins to tilt upwards, that he speaks.

"…Mountains?"

"Yes. We head upwards." She nods to the peaks above. "There should be… Something hidden, past those peaks."

"How exactly do you know where you're going?"

"…I don't." The admission is quiet, but it still halts Chrom in his tracks. "I have… Flickers. Of something that came before. And that's what I follow."

"…Better than nothing, I guess." Chrom mutters. Robin doesn't answer him, and he picks out a strange, glassy look crossing her eyes.

He wonders then, if she's lost more than speech from her time in the wilds. If perhaps she's had brushes with the Rot, and that's taken a toll on her memories. He can't bring himself to ask… But he does find himself following her closer than before.

-o-o-o-

Their trail leads up and up, weaving amongst the slopes and across ledges he's only glimpsed before. Usually from the window of a palace tower, while minding his equipment or half-listening to a sermon. Now he finds himself climbing those same mountains, always following the flash of white fur and violet fabric ahead of him.

Robin leads him across bridges formed from fallen logs. Sometimes rivers rush underneath them. Other times only air and a long drop lurks beneath a bridge of trunk and root. Robin is fearless when she crosses, even if she sometimes drops to all fours and scrambles across.

At first, Chrom hesitates to mimic her; he is a prince. He's meant to stride through wild or city on two legs-

That only lasts until the fifth crossing. This far up the trees below are like scrub brush, peeking up through misty air. They follow the old trail up, following a switch-back cut into the rock, hemmed with flowers growing through fissures in the stone. Their crossing is another fallen tree, sides green with moss. Robin darts across, before pausing on the far edge to watch him.

Somehow, seeing those blood colored eyes on him makes Chrom try and straighten up. To at least act the part of a lord, no matter where he finds himself. That thought carries him halfway across the trunk, as he tries not to think about the long plunge and hard stop beneath him. Instead he keeps his eyes on Robin, fixing her gaze with his as he tries to show her how to walk-

The moss turns sharp under his feet, and suddenly it's not a matter of walking proud, but of not falling off the side. The world spins around him, his stomach trying to drop out of his body and pull the rest of him down with it. First one foot slips and finds nothing but air. His other boot skids along the bark, trying to balance for two and failing one inch at a time. Below waits the long drop, the tree points looking like spears now-

Something latches onto his back, and yanks hard. Instead of falling straight down he tumbles to the side, and bark slams into his ribs. Chrom whirls, his fingers curled as he claws and pulls himself to solid ground, mimicking Robin's dash on all fours.

Chrom gratefully digs his fingers into the soil, turning to see what grabbed him.

Robin spits out a mouthful of his cape, while her fingers work themselves loose from the fabric. She tears rents into the fabric in the process, but Chrom can't bring himself to care.

"Th…Thank you." He whispers. He stays crouched near to the ground, savoring how close it is, and that it's not in any hurry to fall away. Robin guides him up the path, and he matches his steps to hers. His own feet still wobble, unsure and unconvinced about how solid the ground might be; Robin takes some of his weight, and he gratefully leans into her shoulder. Her ear flicks against his cheek, picking out something he can't hear. At last they pause on a ridge overlooking the forest.

The wilds are vivid beneath them, a sea of blue-green, emerald, golden-brown and silver tree trunks all a match for any jewels, finery, and tapestries in Ylisse. Small wonder Robin takes pride in this domain. He can just glimpse where the forest ends and the kingdom of Ylisse rises up. The borders look oddly ragged and ugly… Especially where the troops of Ylisse rally at the edges of the wood, all dark shapes and a flash of blades.

Cold claws latch in his throat as he watches. He feels almost like a ghost, watching the Ylisseans instead of leading them.

"…Who are they?" Robin asks, pointing to the soldiers.

"Uhm-?" It isn't his best answer; neither is the bewildered look he gives Robin.

"I've given you the names of the forest. Can't you tell me about your people now?" She points downwards again, to the figures biting the edge of the wood. "I want to know the names behind these invaders."

"Th-they aren't enemies. Or at least they don't have to be." Chrom tries to tell her, pointing to a figure in yellow. "That… That's Lissa down there. My sister."

He wonders if she's leading the forces now. If she needs to take the brunt of wilds in his place. As he names others, he wonders how their place has changed… Along with their perception of him.

"They're… They're good people. They just have to fight the wilds, because it encroaches on our kingdom. They've heard stories of wolves preying on farmers and travelers. And seen the savagery from the wilds…" He traces his fingers over scars along his skin.

"…Like what was done to you." Robin tries to step away from him, wincing as she looks at the teeth marks. Instead he gently catches her by the wrists.

"They… I guess we all need a little insight." Starting with teaching her more of the names. He tells her about the riders, and how they treat their horses and pegasi like family. How even their axe men like Vaike love a good joke and story shared among friends.

Each time she hears a little more about the people below, something in her expressions shifts. Something that could almost be longing flickers across her face.

"You… Miss them." She says at last, before straightening up. "In that case, we'd best find your treasure, so you can make your way back to them."

Chrom nods, but can't help but feel that only solves half the problem. And doesn't do anything for that odd, lonely note lurking in Robin's voice.

-o-o-o-

Robin is grateful for the close contact with Chrom; it helps her stay steady, when they stumble across the ruins. Those lurk in a valley in the mountains, and the first sight of it stops Robin short. The gray and blue lined stones poke out of the of the plant life almost like teeth.

They resemble that sword Chrom carries at his side… And she's afraid that given half the chance, those rigid lined ruins will bite her the same way.

She feels the age of this place through her skin, through the very press of her footpads against the ground; this is an old place. A place where time has yet to pick the bones of an old city completely clean… And there's a stretch of Rot weaving into the borders. She notices that the same moment Chrom does.

The Rot blooms in noxious violet flowers on ashen branches at the edges of the city, corrupted roots and vines trying to find a claw hold in the brickwork and old cobblestone paths. The worst of it festers on the outskirts of the ruins. Robin carefully sidesteps the puddles of dark ichor, and Chrom mirrors her footsteps.

As they walk closer, and Robin catches a glimpse of petrified stag, caught in the midst of flight by the Rot; the half crumbled limbs are still outstretched, like it can outrun the corruption.

"That's what the Rot does, if it gets too strong a hold." She tells Chrom, and he sticks a little closer to her. "It either makes monsters… Or it silences creatures." The stag's ribs show through half shattered skin, and more violet flowers bloom in place of the creature's heart.

Chrom stares at the remains… But as he crosses the threshold, his steps speed up.

Robin stays where she is, half obscured by brush and low hanging branches. Ready to hide at a moment's notice. There's a stillness to this place she doesn't like; something that suggests the beasts of the forest aren't welcomed here. The only hint of life comes from above, hidden well within the boughs of the forest as birds rustle their feathers and give out hesitant cries.

"It's… It's almost like coming home-" His words break off, and she finds herself yanked forward by one, cautious step. She's confused at what he implies, and needs to know more.

"…My home is beneath the trees and inside dens of dirt and rock. Not… Not _stone_ like this." But for all her words, Robin treads onto the floor. She winces, feeling the touch of soil replaced by flat and polished rock, hard underneath the pads of her paws.

Chrom's hand finds her, and some of the discomfort fades. It's easier to walk when she can focus on the squeezing at her fingers.

"But what exactly… Did you mean by home?" She finds herself asking, warily glaring around. The crumbled archways look almost like beasts ready to pounce on them, but Chrom shows no fear. Only a brief flicker of sadness as he looks over the broken structures.

"There used to be another kingdom in this forest. A mirror to Ylisse, and with people like me in it." Chrom admits, considering her for a moment. "Who knows, maybe they were even your people-?"

"Were…?"

"One day, the forest swallowed up the entire kingdom. And it left no trace of the people who once lived there. It was like they were… Eaten up by the wilds." He pauses, regarding her. "Maybe you ARE one of the survivors of that kingdom?"

The thought almost knocks the breath out of her, and tries to push a storm of emotions into her head. Things that insist Chrom might very well be right. When she looks to the ruins, there's an echo of something almost… Familiar to them.

' _But what does it matter?'_

"M-maybe. But what difference would that make? It's not a place I could return to, any longer." And this place feels painful, makes her uneasy to be around. She desperately wants to hurry, and find whatever Chrom seeks.

"Yeah but… Wouldn't you be interested, if you had a past, here?"

Robin's tail lashes at that, as she glares again at the ruins. Each time she looks at them, they lose some of their sharpness, and some of their threat. And they look more and more familiar… Almost like they could be a home.

"Look, this is where a town used to be." Chrom points out some of the half crumbled walls. Then he leads her to a fountain, his touch gentle on her palm. "And this had to be a city square, where people traded and gathered. Maybe even where minstrels sang…" He trails off at that, looking oddly nostalgic.

"Sounds… Very human. I can't picture myself doing that." She admits, even as they walk. Chrom gives her a careful look at that.

"There's something I've been wondering about… You seem to have nothing but disdain for humans."

"I… That's not strictly true. I've stayed in your company, haven't I?"

"…True. But still, you don't seem fond of castles or steel, or most things civilization enjoys." She gives a cautious nod at that, waiting on his words. "So… If that's the case, why do you wear a collar around your neck?"

She pauses at that. The fur on her paws is pale against the collar, as her nails trace over the leather and buckles.

"I… Didn't choose to wear this. It was put on me." She says, eyes narrowed. There's a grimace trying to pull at her face and show her fangs. Thinking back feels almost painful. "I-I'm certain of that much."

"You… Don't remember a lot, do you?" Chrom risks asking, and looks worried it will earn him another glare. Instead, Robin looks at her talons, frowning over them.

"…I spent a lot of time, in a state where I didn't need to think. So I'm not used to thinking back. Or parsing through this… This haze clouding my thoughts."

"M-maybe I can help you remember!" Chrom blurts out.

"You'd want to help me? Why-?"

"I just… It's just what I do. If there's a problem, then shouldn't I try to fix it?"

"Maybe that's why you attacked my forest with such vigor… Because you saw it as a problem." Robin mutters low. Chrom winces at that, and Robin wonders at how easily his ears pick out her words. She also wonders at the pang that travels through her heart when he shows pain… And how she regrets her words.

"I-I don't exactly see it as a problem, anymore. You live here, after all." There's a color flooding his face as he says that. Robin stares at him for only a moment, before looking away and hiding her face from him.

"…I think we've lost track of things." Robin finally manages. "The point is we've found the ruins; so what do you want from this place?"

"R-right. I… Remember Emmeryn telling me a story about this place. That a young hero-king once traveled here, seeking a boon to protect his kingdom. He found it, and used the power in the artifacts to drive back the threat. And then returned the artifacts to their resting place, so this kingdom would safe guard the treasures for generations… Right here, in this place."

"What is this place called?" Robin stares about, knowing she's an echo of Chrom in the forest. Her familiar trees and earthy scents have been replaced by strange stones, and only a hint of moss reminds her that they're still half in the wilds.

"Plegia. The old kingdom." Chrom tells her, standing proud, looking more in his element. He nods to the old, reaching spires… And something about them sets Robin ill at ease. They are like old and broken teeth, these-

"T-towers. Those are… Castle… Towers?" Her words are halting, but Chrom still turns to her. There's a flicker of hope on his features, and she wishes her mind was a little sharper, and that words came easier to her. All she has is flickers in her head, and she stares at the ruins, trying to will them to make her head whole again.

What she finds is patterns running like wildflowers and vines over the ancient walls, and they will her to move closer, Chrom trailing behind her.

Robin hesitates over the scrawlings; there is a captivating beauty to them, and a strange longing that fills her as she gazes on them.

"Writing." Chrom names the patterns. He watches the way she traces her hands over the carvings… And then puts his hand over hers, index finger pointed at a line of scripture. He slowly guides their hands over it, as he reads aloud.

"In the young days of the world, when man was close brother to beasts." Chrom intones, reading the scripture.

"The Rot oozed from the dark corners of the forest… And the dragons tore a border between wilds and men, so the two would not fall together. They decided to hold the Rot at bay with the light of their eyes. But even their strength faded, until the first king of the people found them, wanting to protect his people. With his aid, they turned into moons to watch the land, put a touch of their magic into the humans with strong hearts… And forged two rings, to mirror the band of their moons."

As she listens to Chrom, something yawns open in Robin. Something yearning, and wanting. As a wolf she's known hunger; the sort of hunger that drives one to hunt, to find red meat to feed the body. She's not familiar with the hunger of the mind, but now it rages through her… And she desperately wants to fill it. Chrom's words are the closest thing she has, and she tries to hurry his hand along, needing more of those words.

"A-and so it is, that the wilds and the kingdoms will stay in balance." Robin finishes the story, the words at last clicking into place… Along with a feeling that she's read this before, and had it taught to her before.

"…I remember…." Her mind is stormy with new thoughts and images, rough as those memories are around the edges. Chrom has a troubled look of his own, and it rages in his gaze as he reads and rereads the carvings.

"Robin, this is… My father always forbids scriptures like this." His breath is a match for hers now, going ragged. "Said they were heretical, and false… The product of maddened forest sages, half corrupted by the wilds."

His fingers splay over the carvings, like he can yank a meaning out of the symbols.

"So… Why are they HERE? This is supposed to be an-"

"An ancient capital. A part of the old kingdom and sister to your realm… Before Ylisse became the last human stronghold, against the forest." Robin says, staring at the carvings. With each breath they grow more familiar.

They look more like something she's seen… And this place in turns feels more like a place she's lived in. A home, just like Chrom says. Yet the thought doesn't assure her.

She's seen these carvings before, had them read to her before, told that this is to be her destiny… And yet as she focuses on the carvings, they seem to grow more sinister. And the voices in her memories grow more dire, more commanding. The collar around her throat feels like it might choke her, as her breathing grows desperate.

' _What happened to me-?'_

Chrom's eyes linger on the collar as well. His hand half stretches up, fingers spread out like they can ease the tension in her throat… But he still stops short of touching her. His eyes dart between her, and the carvings. Robin looks to the symbols as well, picking out more lines.

"There must always be those half sworn to the wilds, to keep the ties between realms strong." Robin intones, and it feels like her voice doesn't belong to her. That this has been told to her before. But the same doesn't seem to be true to Chrom, with how he stares at her.

"I-I've never heard anything like that. My father… Would say that such an idea is heresy."

"Why would he say that?" It's like saying it's heretical to have a heartbeat, or that one can only be pious by gouging out their eyes. Chrom narrows his own eyes, clearly thinking back.

"I… Sometimes asked him to allow expeditions into the forest. Because I wanted to find out more about this place. And find the lost kingdom." Chrom lets out a ragged sigh, eyes narrowing and body tensing like he's reliving a painful argument. "He… Quickly tore that down. Said I was too entranced by the forest already."

Robin has to fight down a snarl, lest Chrom thinks she's baring her fangs at him.

"I… Never really questioned why he hates the wild so much. Why he's… A-afraid." His eyes go wide as he says that. "…Gods. He's _afraid_ of the wilds. I think he never wanted to give me over, or offer any of his children to the wilds, like it says in the scriptures-"

At that, something clicks into place in Robin's head.

"So… My own father decided to do sacrifice his offspring, in place of that." Her eyes shiver shut, a new image playing out against the dark. She can glimpse a kingdom blanketed in shadow, half strangled in blackened vines… And she can hear people naming the Rot, in whispers and in curses.

Robin knows this was where the Rot started, lashing out over a broken balance between kingdoms and wilds. It feels like there's thorn punctures in her own skin, as a hand from her memories clamps over her wrist and pulls her through twisting passages.

"I… I didn't want to be like… This." She admits, the words already souring on her tongue. "But… My father insisted there was no other way. The forest needed their dues, no matter how bloody the ritual was."

She'd lost more blood as the her father dragged her out into the moonlight, and snapped that collar over her neck along with skating a dagger over her skin. And where she'd bled, where red washed over her skin, a blaze of fur had followed. And all the while he'd been calling out to the gods, alternately imploring and ordering them to take the sacrifice he offered them. His speech had grown more violent, as the Rot swept into the kingdom… Until at last Robin broke free from his grip, lashing out in a new shape, and fleeing from her father, from the Rot, and bolting off into the wilds where she wouldn't have to listen or understand any dark prayers.

' _And all of that changed, once you found Chrom.'_ The memories dim, in favor of the person in front of her. The scar in her chest still aches, and still mirrors those little flecks of bite mark across his collarbone. They've cut the other with weapons from the two realms… And since she regained her own mind from the wounding Robin can't help but be grateful for that. Even as a part of her wonders, what Chrom has gained.

"Robin…?" He doesn't seem to share that wonder, instead giving her a worried look.

"…You were right. About me having a trace of humanity in me." She tells him, and recounts some of her memories. Something about her words draws Chrom closer to her, like he can offer solace through his company alone. And stranger still, is that she feels something close to comfort.

Her eyes travel to his sword, and Chrom nervously brushes his hand over it. There's an odd hint of regret in his face. Robin can only shake her own head at that.

"I would have stayed savage, if it hadn't been for that chance encounter with you." And the more she experiences word and thought, the more she resents the idea of going back to that.

At that, she notices a stone chunk further into the ruins, and on it rests something that looks like sunlight made solid. When she breathes in, there's a faint metallic taste in the air; not blood, but something similar to human worked materials. And there's something else; a taste of magic and wards surrounding the stone, explaining why no crows or ravens have made off with the trinkets.

"Chrom, is that…?"

"That's it!" He tells her, dashing forward and stretching his hands out. The hum of magic shifts under his touch and he brushes the wards aside as easily as old cobwebs. The gleam turns into a pair of metal bands, looking like ripples from a pond turned to gold. "These are the rings from the stories, I'm sure of it… It's just like Emmeryn always described them."

Chrom runs his fingers over the metal, almost reverently.

"When the first Exalt founded Ylisse, he did so by taming the wilds, mastering fire and industry, and with the blessings of the goddess Naga. He took some of her power and forged it into a ring."

"So… Why are there two?" Robin finds herself asking, and wondering at the two objects.

"I… I'm not entirely sure. But that means you could have one, too!" He seizes up both objects, and holds one out to her. "Maybe it'll help you."

She's wonders at the warmth curling up in her heart at the gesture. But even as she examines the ring, another thought and question teases at Robin's mind.

"Isn't it a… A human thing, to exchange rings with someone you like?" Chrom's face rivals any red berries or flowers.

"I… I guess you DO remember a little more about being human." He admits, his words little more than a mutter. "I just thought that you could use a little more magic; and it might help you with your memories."

"I appreciate it, but..." She holds her hands up in front of his face, showing her white clad paws and razor talons. "Pretty sure I can't wear a ring on these. Not like you."

Chrom gives a nod at that, considering her half-hands… But he also doesn't seem all that dissuaded. Instead he brings up a bit of chord from his pockets, holding it next to the collar around her neck. It threads through the ring, tying it to the hoop in her collar, and jangling against her neck.

"Does that work for you?" He looks up at her, hopeful. And Robin gives a nod, already feeling the metal thrumming against her skin. As she nods, she brings herself closer to Chrom, and his fingers brush against her lips for a split second.

She feels a heat in her face, and she wants to ask about this sensation-

…But something else stops her short. Something that seeps into her head, past the embarrassment and touch. And it takes the warm blush in her face and replaces it with cold.

" _Well done, dear pet."_ She goes still at the words, and they burn through her head instead of her ears. And those words aren't her own, belonging to a half-forgotten voice from her memories. A smug presence tries to burrow into her brain, like a thousand wasps trying to build a hive just past her ears.

Robin flinches, and she wonders at how Chrom stares at her; like he can't hear the same words. Overhead the sunlight grows wane, clouds and forest both swallowing a fading daylight.

" _It's a good thing you kept the Prince alive, and led him to dispel the wards. Even if it cost me the use of my eye… But_ _you've played it being tame for long enough."_ There's an unmistakable command in the voice, and a familiar growl. Something that could belong to either the black furred wolf from the storm… Or from the faint memory of her own father.

But she refuses to follow that command; her claws scraps across the floors where she digs her paws in. She won't follow the voice, or stray from Chrom's side.

"Robin…? What's going on-?" Chrom catches the tension coiling through her… And then winces, when the voice gives a harsh snarl; like he catches just a hint of the sound, somehow. Maybe he isn't so deaf after all, even if his ears are the wrong shape. Robin can see them give a brief, almost canine flicker as he tilts his head.

But he also doesn't pick out the other sounds spilling out of the forest. Robin braces, ears twitching as she hears and feels a thrumming through the earth. She senses the heavy footfalls and scrape of claws on root and earth. She can picture each footfall, and counts dozens of them.

" _Very well; if you won't come willingly to my side I have no problems using harsher methods."_ At the words a growling comes from the underbrush. Through the briars Robin sees blood red eyes staring her and Chrom down. Among them is one single eye, glaring like a blood moon at them.

A stray shaft of sunlight pierces the shadows, illuminating the one-eyed wolf for an instant. His long jaws stretch out, larger than any wolf's bite should be. His ears pin back as well, as he shows all teeth. Since she bit out one eye, the other blazes with enough fury for two.

It isn't long before more fangs sprout like strange flowers among the undergrowth. And with them comes a rumble, a growl from a dozen throats equal to any thunder.

If she carries winter-white fur, and the leader a night-black pelt, then these pack wolves are a mottled grey; some like fog, others like spent storm clouds, and all of them roiling together, one coat blending into the next.

"A wolf pack…" Chrom whispers, his voice rasping in his throat as it goes dry with fear. Overhead the branches rustle, crows cackling and anticipating the bloodshed to come.

"They'll have to fight another wolf, in that case." Robin snaps, meeting the blood red gaze of one wolf with a glare of her own. She can practically feel her own eyes glow, and she bares her fangs against the pack. In answer, dark shapes barrel out of the forest.

She's equal to them when they charge, lunging forward and turning to a whirlwind of sharpened claws. Robin scores one hit, clawing open a throat, blinding another wolf… And then getting blindsided as a third rushes in and tackles her to the ground.

The wolf's fangs seek her throat, trying to tear both the flesh and the ring… But their fangs find her collar instead, acting as leather and cloth armor. She twists away in turn, keeping that shield, frail as it might be, between her and the beasts. Robin finds her feet, crouching on all fours as the pack rushes in again.

Together they turn into a strange dance of gray and white fur. At each snap she's able to turn their fangs, leaving them to bite air, cloth, or leather in turn. As she whirls, she catches sight of Chrom, staring as she battles… And for a heartbeat she can glimpse Chrom gather his own courage, and even seems to absorb something with how she fights.

She tries to bite in turn, to keep the wolves from rushing Chrom… But her teeth are blunt things, with only her canines capable of drawing blood.

And there's worse. She can feel the weakness in her jaws; they can't puncture fur and hide as they once did. And her claws may be sharp as ever, but they are fixed to slow, leaden limbs. All at once the frailties of humans collapse on her, the same instant one of the wolves rushes in and slams shoulder first into her stomach.

She doesn't even get to growl before doubling over; her lungs also don't have the same strength as before. All her agility drains out with her breath. She's without strength and speed, while the wolves rush her.

One of them bites into her robe, and with a hard yank sends her sprawling to the ground where she'll be easy prey. Another slams a heavy paw over her heart where it tries to hammer, pressing her down into the cobblestones. The other paw pins her arm in place, and she can't free her limbs from either the weight or the tangle of her robe.

The wolf opens its jaws, ready to snap her collar off, then go for her throat-

"Leave her be, beasts. And face me."

Chrom's words are like steel, equal to the long fang he holds in his hands. He lashes out with it, and the wolf pining her falls with a gurgle and spray of red. Chrom whirls, ready to meet the other wolves… And there's a strange swiftness to him. A speed she's never seen in his limbs before.

If she's lost her strength and her speed, then maybe he's found it, and figured out a way for it to flow into him. He ducks under one wolf as it uselessly leaps past him. He slams a fist into another one, all but breaking its muzzle and sending it staggering away.

He stays swift on his feet; always moving, always hunting for his next opening and opponent. He's like a predator in his own right… And there's something of a wolf, in the way he fights. All efficiency, hamstringing, throating, using his blade as a claw and fang.

And his own teeth, now all on snarling display, look sharper than before.

It all makes him equal to the pack, dodging, counterstriking, driving the beasts back far enough to give them a moment to breathe… And for something else to rush in from the forest. A collection of crows flies from the branches, all screeching and lashing out with beak and talons. And all their ire is focused on the wolf pack.

Everything is a storm of feathers and raucous caws, mixed with the yelp of the pack. Through the cries, she can almost hear the crows crying out to Robin in turn; telling her she won't get a better chance to run… And Robin has to agree with them.

"Hurry!" She grabs Chrom by the arm, yanking him away from the battle. And thankfully he follows her, ring gripped tight in his hands, as they flee the beasts and their battle.

**Author's Note:**

> Hopefully no one will mind if Chrobin Week 2020 stretches out for however long it takes me to write, edit, and upload these chapters? Either way, here's some Fire Emblem Heroes inspired (but not a 1-1 translation) Chrobin!


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